DogDay Afternoon
by KADH
Summary: Seduction runs amok when Hank gets involved.
1. One

**Dog-Day Afternoon**

Written by kadh; story by fcmercer and kadh

Seduction runs amok when Hank gets involved.

_Follows after the story "No Place Like Home." Takes place between episodes 717 "Fallen Idols" and 718 "Empty Eyes,"_

_circa mid-March 2007._

_For Joey - Something a little naughty than usual in honor of your birthday (a little late, I know) _

_and with special thanks to Zoe whose antics inspired this story in the first place_

* * *

**One**

Grissom tossed his keys onto the table with a little more force and irritation than necessary, before he impatiently knelt to unclip the leash from Hank's collar. The dog took off without a backwards glance.

Grissom wearily shrugged off his jacket. As he did so, a bemused voice drifted up from the kitchen.

"I though you were just taking Hank out for a pee."

"I thought so, too," he replied, hanging up his coat. "Seems Hank had other ideas."

"Have a nice walk then?" Sara called.

"More like a run."

"I didn't think you ran," she laughed. "I thought that was what the rest of us were for."

Grissom shook his head as he replied, "It seems I neglected to inform Hank of that fact."

"I didn't think Hank ran either."

"Neither did I. Turns out he does," he replied, trudging down the steps, feeling more than a little hot and sweaty as well as tired.

It had been after two when he had first come home after pulling an extra few hours of dreaded paperwork patrol beyond what should have been the end of shift, and he would have loved to have begged off taking Hank out, but the dog deserved at least a little attention. Although a brisk afternoon jog in the nearly ninety-degree heat was not what Grissom had had in mind.

"I see," Sara said, glancing out from behind the open refrigerator door. She gave him a thorough once over, before giving him a wry sort of smile. "You don't look too pleased about it. Is that why he skulked off to the bedroom? Because he knows he's in the doghouse?"

"Probably," he answered coming up behind her and peering over her shoulder. "What may I ask are you doing in _my_ kitchen?"

Sara shut the fridge as she explained, "Well, as it was taking you so long to get home, I was thinking about starting on something to feed you, but if you're going to be cranky..."

"Not cranky, just concerned," he said and gave her an apologetic kiss on the cheek.

"You look hot."

"Your gift for pointing out the obvious is as remarkable as always, dear."

"And sarcasm has never suited you, _Gilbert_," she retorted blithely as she brushed past him towards the center island. "Why you insist on wearing a jacket in this heat I will never know and don't tell me it's not _that_ hot out because it's a _dry heat_."

She was pleased to see that he managed a smile at this.

Sara pulled a glass out from under the counter and went back to the fridge to fill it with both ice and water before extending it to him.

"Thank you," he said gratefully. He sipped at it at first, but then quickly began to gulp it down. He set the empty glass on table.

"You might want to pace yourself," Sara teased, taking the glass up again. "Another?"

"Please."

"You hungry?"

"Not really," he admitted. He emptied the second glass slightly slower this time; she refilled it again without asking.

"Better?" She asked after he had finished the third one.

"A little," he replied with a sigh and noticed for the first time, that she was staring at him and had been staring at him for quite some time now. "What?" He asked, slightly self-consciously.

"Guess I am still trying to get used to you without the beard."

"I didn't have it that long this time," Grissom countered.

"I know."

Then something clicked. "Oh, wait," he began, shaking his head ruefully, "I know_ that_ look."

"What?" She inquired innocently.

"_Sara_..."

"What?" She repeated.

Grissom tried not to grin as he said, "Hot and sweaty is not sexy, dear."

"Goes to show what you know about women, _dear,_" she retorted. After a moment, she asked, "You still hot?" with what he knew to be a mischievous glint in her eyes.

"Yeah, why?" He answered warily.

"I think I might have an idea for how to cool you off."

As she closed the distance between them, he said, his voice a little breathier than usual with expectation, "Why do I get the feeling that a cold shower is not what you have in mind?"

"It isn't."

"Then?"

She reached for an ice cube from his glass.

"That better not be going down my shirt," he warned.

"A razor blade doesn't phase you, but you are afraid of a little ice? Don't you trust me, Gil?" She smiled sweetly.

"I though I had already answered that question recently."

"Then just sit down and shut up."

"Yes, dear," Grissom replied, taking a seat on the stool at the far end of the island.

Sara came up behind him and began to rub the ice cube along the back of his neck. Grissom leaned forward and let out a long sigh.

"Better?" She whispered into his ear.

"Much," he relied, closing his eyes and starting to relax.

Until Sara did something he did not expect; she popped the ice cube into her mouth and holding it taut between her lips, began to again apply it to the back of his neck.

The sigh became something more akin to an involuntary moan as Grissom shivered with the pleasure of the combination of the cool of the ice and the warmth of her breath and lips.

"Cool enough for you yet?" She asked, pausing for a moment.

"No," he breathed.

"That is because," she began, reaching over his shoulders and beginning to undo the buttons of his shirt, "you're still wearing way too many clothes."

Then suddenly the overwhelming sensation of the coolness and warmth against his bare skin returned, but this time, it shifted from his neck to his shoulders.

"Did I ever tell you how brilliant you are?" He murmured.

"No, I don't think so," she said.

"You are," he almost gasped. "Absolutely brilliant..."

"Really?"

"Mmmmm," he answered incoherently and reached back to bury his fingers in her hair.

At this, Sara accidentally let go of the ice cube and it slipped down the back of his shirt.

This time Grissom did gasp and sputter and spun to face her, "That's it," he said.

"It was your fault," Sara protested as he playfully grabbed her and pinned her against the table.

"Really?"

"You distracted me."

"So it was all my fault?"

"Yeah."

"You mean like this?" He leaned in almost as if to kiss her, but instead reached for an ice cube from the glass and proceeded to drop it down her front.

Sara shrieked and cried, "Gil Grissom you are so dead," as she struggled to dislodge the ice from her bra.

"Need some help with that?" he asked in a nonchalant tone and without waiting for her reply, slid his hand up her shirt to retrieve the cube. But instead of merely removing it, he slowly ran it down her chest to her stomach. Sara shivered.

"Cold?" He inquired with a grin.

"No," she said almost breathlessly as he let the ice fall to the floor, but did not remove his hand. Instead, his other one joined the first under her blouse. He drew her to him as his hands inched their way up back up.

"Now who's overdressed?" he asked.

"It is getting a little warm in here," Sara conceded, drawing the top over her head.

His eyes followed the path of his hands, lingering as his fingers did now, on her chest for a moment until they continued up her body until they met hers. He leaned in and kissed her gently at first, but then the kiss deepened into something far more hungry and insistent on both their parts.

When they broke away several long moments later, Grissom said, "Sara --"

"Yeah?"

"Are you awake enough now?" He asked and this time it was his eyes that were filled with mischief.

"Awake enough for what?"

Before she knew it, Grissom literally swept her off her feet and into his arms.

"Gil --" She stammered in surprise.

He kissed her quiet. "Just enjoy it," he said and they kissed again and stumbled towards the bedroom, too absorbed in each other to quite be sure of where they were exactly going.

When he managed to bump them into their second doorway, they both laughed and broke apart.

"Maybe it would be a better idea if..." Grissom suggested as he eased her back to the ground.

"Maybe," she said, kissing him again and tugging him forward.

They staggered into the bedroom hopelessly intertwined only to find Hank luxuriating in the middle of the bed apparently fast asleep.

"Hank, down," Grissom ordered.

A little bleary-eyed, Hank peered up at the two of them for a moment before closing his eyes again.

Grissom turned to Sara and said, "This is definitely not one of those occasions when you just let sleeping dogs lie."


	2. Two

**Two**

"Hank, down!" Grissom commanded, a bit more firmly this time.

Hank merely snuffled.

"I looks like obedience training is going well," Sara snickered. "Perhaps what they say is true. That you can't teach old dogs new tricks."

Grissom shot her a dirty look. "Hank, down!" He said again.

"Maybe you just didn't say the magic word," she suggested.

"_Now_?"

"_Please_," Sara giggled.

"You are not helping, dear," he solemnly intoned.

She patted him on the shoulder and said, "You're the one who thought it would be a good idea to get a dog."

"It was that or more spiders."

"While they may not be cuddly, spiders don't hog the bed."

A point that Hank was making abundantly clear at that moment.

"Hank," Grissom tried again and grabbed the dog's collar and tugged, succeeding in merely dislodging the dog a few inches, but no more.

"Screw it," Sara said and dragged Grissom on top of her and onto the head of the bed.

For some strange reason, passion and desire more often than not, forget to take into account certain basic principles of physics such as _a body in motion tends to stay in motion until acted upon by an outside force_, that _every action has an equal and opposite reaction_ and that _two objects cannot occupy the same space at the same time_.

When all three of those tenants suddenly and abruptly came into effect, the end result was that rather than tumble playfully and amorously into bed, Gil Grissom ended up rather abruptly crashing into the headboard and letting out a loud and colorful curse that didn't seem to faze Hank in the slightest.

For her part, Sara gaped at him for a moment before she stammered, "Oh, God, are you all right?"

"Yeah," he replied, shaking his head to clear it as he blinked back a few tears.

"Let me see," she said reaching up to his head.

"It sounded a lot worse than it was," he said, brushing her hands away impatiently.

"Stop fussing and let me look," Sara insisted. Satisfied that he wasn't bleeding or otherwise seriously injured she smoothed his hair back into place and said, "Do you want me to go and get you some ice?"

"Isn't that how we ended up in this position in the first place?" He inquired a little ruefully.

"True," she reluctantly admitted. Sara gave him a soft smile, which she was pleased to see him return. She took his face into her hands and then slowly began to lay a trail of feather-light kisses from the top of his head to his forehead to his cheek, then to his ear and down his neck, before he insisted on enthusiastically kissing her back.

"_Food!_" Sara suddenly shouted, almost startling Grissom into hitting his head again.

"What?" He stammered dumbfounded.

"_Food_."

"Honestly, food isn't really what I'm thinking about right now, dear."

"Not for _you_," Sara said. "_Hank._ He always comes running when you feed him."

They both eyed the apparently fast asleep dog for a moment before clumsily clamoring out of bed and into kitchen.

Grissom paused as he poured food into Hank's dish. "You do realize that we are just positively reinforcing a bad behavior when we do this," he said.

"Hmm..." Sara began. "Food for Hank equals we get the bed back. We get the bed back..." Her voice trailed off, but the hand that had initially rested on the small of his back began to slip past his belt as if to emphasize her point.

"Right," Grissom readily agreed, topping off the bowl. He gave a loud whistle and called, "Hank, dinner."

Hank didn't exactly race into the kitchen, but he did eventually lumber into the room to give a curious sniff at his bowl before setting down to eat.

Satisfied at this result, neither Grissom nor Sara wasted anytime returning to the bedroom with Grissom giving the door a firm tug shut behind the two of them.

"Now where were we?" He asked.

She narrowed the distance between them, "You mean before I conked you on the head?"

"Yeah."

But instead of answering, she kissed him. Her lips were soft and warm and adamant. Grissom deepened the kiss this time and their breath quickened; mingled in each other's mouths. When they broke away, she said in a heady sort of voice, "Right about there," and eased his unbuttoned shirt from his shoulders. He smiled and drew her close and began to nuzzle against her neck, causing Sara to sigh and settle almost limply against him.

"Bed?" His question buzzed against her bare skin as he began to kiss his way across her shoulder.

"Mmm," she murmured and allowed him to ease her gently onto the middle of the mattress.

As he kissed her, Sara reached out and tugged a little impatiently on his belt and then his trousers until they slipped down to his ankles only to get stuck on his shoes.

Grissom groaned in frustration as he moved to sit down on the edge of the bed and began to undo the laces of his shoes.

"How is that even after all this time, I still manage to forget about the shoes?"

"You're the one who insists on wearing them in the house," Sara replied blithely. "Besides," she continued, coming up behind him and draping her arms around his shoulders. "I think you were too busy thinking about something else at the time."

"You seem to have that effect on me," he replied. He slipped out of both of his shoes and turned to her and said, "And I'm really not all that interested in thinking about shoes right now."

"Oh? You have something else in mind?"

"Yeah."

"Does it involve more talking?"

"No."

"Then why don't you just show me then..."

Grissom grinned and leaned back to kiss her.

Then everything became rush of breathlessness, of lips and hands and fingers caressing, of skin on skin, and nothing more than wanting and hoping and longing and loving.

Sara gave a low moan of pleasure; then she gave another, deeper and throatier this time as Grissom continued to lavish attention to one of her favorite places to be kissed, but her third whimper was joined by an unexpected howl from the other side of the bedroom door.

They both started for a moment and Sara giggled and Grissom shook his head before he resumed what he had been doing before they had been so rudely and abruptly interrupted, but not without first saying with a sigh, "What is it with you and males named 'Hank'?"

Sara merely half-chuckled and half-sighed and replied, "I have no idea. But at least I'm moving up the evolutionary ladder."

Grissom peered up at her for a moment, a look of both bemusement and apprehension on his face. "Remind me never to get on your bad side," he said finally.

"You're heading that way if you keep stopping," Sara cautioned. She tugged on his boxers, and said, "No one likes a tease, Gil."

Idle threat or no, Grissom returned to his ministrations which before long had Sara once again almost positively purring with pleasure and Hank howling and pawing at the door in earnest.

"We'll let you back in in five minutes," Sara called slightly exasperated.

"Five minutes?" Grissom echoed suddenly agog and aghast.

"Okay," she corrected hurriedly. "_Seven_ minutes, Hank." When Grissom simply continued to stare at her, she asked, "What?"

"You in a hurry?" He stammered.

"Not particularly. Why?"

"_Seven minutes_," he prompted.

"In dog time," she replied. When he continued to look puzzled, she said patiently, "You know, one year is seven to a dog. Well, then one dog minute is like seven. So seven minutes is practically an hour in people time."

"Is it now?" Grissom asked, trying to suppress a disbelieving laugh.

"Yeah, what did you think I meant?"

"Nothing, dear. Except do you always believe the b.s. that comes out of _your _mouth?"

Before Sara could retort in kind, he was kissing her quiet, his tongue against hers in a deep kiss. Then his lips were at her cheeks, her neck.

But the pawing at the door only became more dogged and was soon joined with a pathetic sounding high-pitched whining. While they both tried hard to ignore it, after a few minutes they broke apart.

"Maybe you should get that, if you don't want you door broken down," Sara suggested with a sigh.

Grissom breathed an even deeper sigh of frustration and reluctantly extracted himself from the bed. He took a deep breath before opening the door, as he knew that now was not the time to loose his temper if he wanted a snowball's chance in hell of being able to reclaim the situation.

Hank sat there suddenly very still and quiet and looking innocently expectant.

"In," Grissom growled. Hank trotted in obediently. "Now, sit," he commanded indicating the dog's bed in the corner. To both their surprise, Hank obeyed.

"Does he look smug to you?" Sara asked after a moment, slightly amused.

"He better not."


	3. Three

**Three**

Grissom stood there glaring at Hank for a few long moments before Sara gave his boxers a gentle tug.

"Come on," she whispered. When he didn't move, she stood and hugged him from behind. "While I admit I was trying to get you all hot and bothered, this really wasn't the sort of hot and bothered I had in mind."

"I know," he sighed.

"Then come back to bed," she said, kissing his shoulder softly. "Please, Gil."

It was the _Please,_ _Gil_ that finally calmed and convinced him. He covered her hands with his and squeezed them gently before bring them up to his lips. He turned to face her with a slight smile on his face.

"On one condition," he said.

"Yes?"

"Well two..." He quickly amended. "First, you are still wearing far too many clothes," he began, his gaze running over her body, most of which was covered by the bra and lounging pants she was still wearing.

"And whose fault is that?" She queried cheekily.

"And," he continued, not bothering to answer her, "You ask me again."

"Done."

She began to reach behind her to undo the clasps, but he stilled her hands. "Allow me," he whispered.

Sara rested her palms on his chest as if to say _be my guest_.

He fumbled for a moment with the catch before it came undone. Sara tried to hide her smile at this apparent lack of finesse, but he must have caught her at it, as he shook his head and sighed as he drew the straps down her arms until the garment fell carelessly to the ground. "Why does that always seem to amuse you?" He asked.

"Because there had to be at least one thing in the world that Gil Grissom wasn't an expert on."

"Two, if you count the shoes," he corrected.

"Well, at least two things then," she conceded. "But then I've always liked those two things about you. The snoring... well that I could live without," she teased.

"Like you don't snore," he replied.

"I..." She began, but the rest of her protest was drown out by a gasp as the warmth of his mouth descended on one of her breasts and that of his hand on the other. When she was finally able to catch her breath she whispered, "Come to bed, Gil, please."

When he looked up at her, his eyes were full of pleasure.

"Yes, dear," he said and went to lead her to bed only to find Hank perched on the edged nearest them looking proud and expectant, Sara's recently removed bra dangling from his mouth.

"Hank, drop it," Grissom instructed. The dog obeyed.

"Since when did you teach Hank how to play fetch?" She asked surprised.

"I didn't."

Sara couldn't help but laugh. "I guess I was wrong. It seems you can teach an old dog new tricks."

Grissom gave her a quizzical look and said, "Does that go for me as well?"

"No." When he looked a little crestfallen, Sara touched his cheek and explained, "Because you are neither _old_ nor a _dog_. And your tricks are already more than satisfactory."

"Satisfactory?" He asked.

"Much more than," she grinned playfully. "But it seems we are back to where we started. You starting to wish you had a yard now?"

"He'd probably just bark then."

"Probably," Sara laughed.

"I'm glad _you_ find this all so amusing," he frowned.

"Oh, come on, it is a little funny."

He glared at her in response.

"Well, one of us has to have a sense of humor and we both know it's not you." Grissom continued to scowl which only made Sara giggle harder. "You know you're cute when you pout," she said.

"I think I am going to go for that shower after all."

She grasped his arm as he turned to go. "But petulance doesn't suit you," Sara added.

"Well, I suppose this isn't the first time Hank's come between us."

The temperature in the room suddenly dropped about twenty degrees.

"Goodnight, Grissom," Sara replied frostily and strode over to the other side of the bed, pulled back the covers, climbed in and tugged them taut around her.

_Shit_. Grissom thought. He looked down at what was usually her side of the bed, but was now occupied by a very puzzled looking Hank. At this moment, Grissom seemed to share the dog's bafflement.

His voice was soft, low and slightly desperate, "Down, Hank, please."

While Hank didn't jump down, he did thankfully move towards the foot of the bed. Grissom gave him a grateful pat on the head as he slipped between the sheets and snuggled up to Sara. Her back was stiff and she held herself rigidly, too rigidly he knew for her to be comfortable. He thought about apologizing, but wasn't entirely sure that was what she wanted or what was really needed at the moment. Instead, he brushed the hair back from her neck and kissed her gently from her shoulder to just below her ear.

"You don't fight fair," she grumbled reluctantly, but still rolled over to face him.

"I'm sorry," he said simply. "I --"

She was the one to kiss him quiet this time.

And the kiss might have turned into something more if Grissom hadn't let out a loud shriek in the middle of it and succeeded in almost propelling the both of them off the other side of the bed. As he pulled Sara on top of him, she couldn't help but laugh.

"I think I've just lost all respect I had for you," she said sniggering. "But on the plus side, the next time I want to hear you squeal like I girl I know exactly how to do it. Thanks, Hank," she called to the lump just starting to reappear from under the covers. "Although I've smelled your feet, Gris, they can't be all that appetizing..."

"You wouldn't," he cautioned.

Her eyes and the twinge of an impish grin on her face seemed to say _Try me_.

"Maybe waking and feeding Hank wasn't such a good idea," Grissom said. "As now he is wide awake and seems to want to play."

"And that's a problem how?"

"I'm a little busy."

"Doing?" She asked.

But her question was answered by him rolling her onto her back and beginning to kiss down her chest and stomach and further below as he tugged her pants free from her hips.

Suddenly, it was very quiet. A little too quiet.

Which wasn't exactly the response Grissom was hoping for or expecting.

So he looked up, only to find a pair of big brown eyes peering back at him inquisitively -- Hank's, not Sara's, as the dog now had his head propped on Sara's chest.

"Took you long enough," Sara smirked.

"Why didn't you say something?"

"I wanted to see how long it would take you to notice."

"I was a little preoccupied," he reasoned.

"Yes, I know."

"And you just let him..."

"He seemed rather curious about the whole thing," she explained. "He is your dog after all."

"You know what they say about curiosity..."

"Yeah, but Hank's a dog."

"I think in this case the adage works across species."

Hank seemed to sense that he was skating on thin ice and slunk back beneath the covers and to the far corner of the bed without being told.

"Fifth time the charm?" Sara asked, pulling Grissom in for a kiss.

"I think we're on our sixth try actually," he corrected.

"But who's counting," she quipped, slowly running both of her hands down his back then beneath his boxers.

His voice was both deeper and breathier all at once, when he said, "Now who's not fighting fair?"

Sara leaned in, drawing him even closer to her. "Please, Gil," she whispered.

That and her hands deftly removing the last of his clothes was all the further inducement he needed.

Whether it is a normal or quite common manifestation of canine behavior or no, there are just some places a dog's cold, wet nose should never go -- and there are certainly certain moments when its presence is least appreciated.

Unfortunately, the nose went -- and wasn't appreciated -- and the end result was that a very startled Grissom shot forward on the bed nearly knocking the bedside table over in the process and barely missing clocking Sara in the nose.

"HANK!" Grissom nearly roared after he had gather up his bearing and his dignity.

"Wait --" Sara said, placing a firm hand on his shoulder. "Look --"

Somehow in the midst of the melee, the TV had come on and Hank now sat absolutely enraptured --

By _The Three Stooges_.

"It was that simple?" Grissom asked, honestly and utterly bewildered.

"But _The Three Stooges_?" Sara queried.

"Maybe it's just the TV."

Sara leaned over to retrieve the remote and began to rapidly flip channels. She paused for a moment on _Animal Planet_ where the host was elaborating on the defensive mechanisms of the bird-eating tarantula.

"Hack!" Harrumphed Grissom.

"I dunno," Sara countered. "You'd look pretty cute in those khaki shorts."

He unceremoniously grabbed the remote.

PBS had _Tosca_ on, which caused him to pause for a moment and listen in rapt appreciation. A moment, too long apparently, as Hank began to howl in protest.

"I have to agree with you on that one," Sara said, pushing the channel button.

"Heathens," Grissom muttered under his breath.

The next station had on a young teary-eyed boy pleading for the life of his dog.

"Change it, change it," Sara insisted, covering her eyes with her hands.

"What's wrong with _Old Yeller_?"

A loud bang startled all three of them.

"I see your point," he conceded, but before he changed the channel he said to Hank, who still looked a little shell-shocked, "Remember this for next time --"

"I don't think it's supposed to be a cautionary tale, Gil."

"Still..."

He flipped back to _The Three Stooges_.

Immediately, Hank's ears perked up.

"It appears that Hank's a _Stooges_ fan."

"Well, there goes the IQ curve in this house," Sara sighed.

At this, Grissom gave her a rather hurt and perplexed look which she didn't see.

"Well, at least, he finally seems occupied," she continued. "Shall we try for a seventh time, you think? I mean we are in Vegas after all."

"You do know that seven isn't always a lucky --"

Sara interrupted any further exposition with a heady kiss.

But the moment seemed to have passed.

"You know we could just --" Grissom suggested when they both broke apart.

Sara smirked. "I didn't know you were a _Three Stooges_ fan, Gilbert," she said scooping up his shirt from beside the bed and slipping it on. "You know I could go and get some popcorn."

But instead of getting out of bed, she snuggled up next to Grissom and patted the bed.

"Up, Hank," she called.

The dog eagerly bounded up and laid his head in her lap. She gave the back of his ears an affectionate scratch. Grissom leaned and whispered into the dog's ears, "This doesn't mean you're out of the doghouse."

But to Sara -- when she caught his eye -- he said, "I thought you were going to get popcorn."

"I am --"

When she gave no indication of moving, he nudged her.

"At the commercial," she hurriedly qualified.

"What were you just saying about lowering the IQ of the house?"

"Shh --" she replied, her eyes firmly fixed on the TV.

Unable to contain his grin, Grissom slid his arm around her waist and kissed the top of her head affectionately.

"Sara, you know I lo..."

She cut him off before he could finish, "That's nice. Now shh..."

"Yes, dear."


End file.
